The Final Solution
by Count Iago
Summary: Written as part two, after the events at Reichenbach falls, as the great detective deals with first the idea and then the reality that his arch enemy is still alive
1. Chapter 1

I feel that I should begin by explaining that this is one of the very few occasions on which the only reason that the chronicle of my friend's cases is to be published is by the direct desiring of the latter. It was a matter that occurred, almost exactly on the turn of the century, and it is only sometime later after receiving a telegram from my friend, that I now publish this account of my friend's second duel with the man whom he long ago singled out, as the greatest enemy he ever faced.

It was a biting, unpleasant March and the chill could be felt in just about every room of Baker Street. I believe that the only two rooms that were warm were our housekeeper's parlour and the small living room, in which my friend and I spent most of our time. It is left to me to point out that it was only due to my efforts that we even had a fire going, as he was in one of his most languid moods and could barely seem to feel the cold.

As it was, no one seemed to want to venture forth, so it seemed rather unusual to both of us when our housekeeper announced that a Professor Samuels wanted to speak to us. I was mildly relieved, for the cold days were beginning to seem tiresome, but as for my friend it seemed as if salvation was at hand. If I had been unable to tell it through the normal ways, I was able to tell how bored he had been, by the way that Sherlock Holmes sprang to life to greet our visitor.

The Professor Samuels in question, turned out to be a small, rounded man, who greeted us in the warm manner of one who lives his life as peacefully as he can, but never fails to do a friend a good turn.

"Mr Holmes?" He asked, with great respect.

My friend had not risen but I could see by the look in his eyes he was giving Professor Samuels his full attention.

"Indeed. This is my friend and college, Doctor Watson."

"Of course." Our visitor paused as if collecting his thoughts. "Mr Holmes, I do not come to you out of any need for myself. I am in no trouble, though there is a small mystery surrounding the events I will outline to you, which I would like to know the answer to, even if it is simply an innocent one."

My friend held up his hand, a small frown creasing his brow.

"Professor Samuels, forgive my interruption, but if you do not desire to know something for yourself, why are you here?"

Our client shifted slightly.

"Well, Mr Holmes, I was rather hoping that I might be able to provide you with some information. Perhaps if I was to give you the whole story from the beginning…"

Holmes waved one hand and sank low into his chair, as the professor began his story.

"Mr Holmes, I am a member of the Royal Society of Chemists' and head of their publishing section. A few months ago a professor from a very prestigious Swedish university approached me about publishing one of our papers in his own country for his students. Normally we would give our consent straight away, but when it was first published, the writer gave his express wish that we contact him for permission before allowing anyone else to publish it. In the event of his death, then we were to go to his next if kin, so I wrote to his brother. The strange thing is, Mr Holmes, that there was no money to be exchanged, nothing except the right to publish it."

Both my friend and I were looking a little confused. Although I had been taking notes, I could make no sense of it. Holmes smiled gently at the man, trying to keep patient.

"Professor Samuels, it is a most intriguing case, but I do not why it should be of such special interest to me."

The Professor raised his eyebrows and when he spoke, he spoke awkwardly.

"Well Mr Holmes, the reason I thought you would be interested is that the paper in question is 'The Dynamics of an Asteroid'!"

I saw Holmes's eyes widen with sudden understanding and an icy hand clutched at my heart. 'The Dynamics of an Asteroid' was the paper written by the man who I had thought for so long had killed Holmes, the one man in England who was a match for him: Professor Moriarty!

**To be continued **


	2. Chapter 2

Holmes had stayed frozen in one position, tensed as he gathered his thoughts. Professor Samuels seemed pleased that his information was not as useless to Holmes, but also seemed to realise the severity of the situation.

At length, he spoke again,

"As you can tell, Mr Holmes, I read of your exploits in the Strand magazine and I when this matter arose, I felt it best that I should inform you at once."

My friend was too preoccupied to answer, so I said quickly,

"Thank you, Professor, it was very good of you."

"You're welcome, Dr Watson. I realised the connection immediately and came here."

Very suddenly, my friend sprang from his chair and began to hunt through all of the pieces of paper, which littered the floor of our sitting room. Professor Samuels looked rather startled, but I merely sighed. Holmes had one of the most careful, organised brains in England, but he was one of the most disorganised men. All at once, he seemed to remember our visitor and returned to his chair with the same energy as he left it.

"My strongest thanks, Professor Samuels and I will be sure to inform you, if I come to a satisfactory result!"

Both Professor Samuels and I recognised this as a dismissal and I quietly showed him out, thanking him again, and apologising for the sharp end to the visit. When I resumed my seat, Holmes spoke to me, while lighting his favourite oily, black pipe.

"Well Watson, a pretty problem, is it not?"

I thought for a minute, before replying.

"Well, Holmes, there is a certain awkwardness, but I cannot see there is any real cause for alarm. Moriarty's dead, in Reichenbach Falls!"

He nodded, but did not look at me, and I knew he was thinking of his old enemy, with whom he had fought such a pitched battle. A thought occurred to me after a second, which in my excitement I shouted out at him.

"My God, Holmes! We forgot to ask which brother he wrote to!"

Holmes looked at me calmly, although in a slightly disappointed manner and I knew that I had said something foolish.

"Watson, would I make such a childish blunder? There is only one brother!"

"But you said that one was a station master, and the other is a Colonel, who wrote to me to publish the account of the Falls."

Holmes smiled at me.

"Watson, they are the same person. When Colonel Moriarty retired from the army, he took to managing a small country in the West. I know this because of a newspaper article I read about him on the occasion of his retirement, which I was endeavouring to find a moment ago. There were only ever two Moriarty brothers, the Colonel and the more infamous Professor."

"I suppose then that he carried on using his title, like when he wrote to me?"

"Exactly."

I began to feel a need to do something and I am afraid I must have started to fidget slightly. At any rate, Holmes soon noticed.

"Anxious, Watson?"

"Well I must confess that I would rather like to do something about this whole affair."

My friend smiled at me and replied,

"Well, Watson, if you would be so good as to pack for a small trip, we shall be off without much delay!"

I assumed that we were going to call on this station master and find out what was going on. Holmes nodded and told me he already had the address. It was as I was in my room, packing, that he poked his head round the door and said, in a much more serious voice,

"Oh, and Watson, there is something unpleasant about this whole matter. I would be greatly relieved if you packed your revolver!"


	3. Chapter 3

We left very early the next morning, Holmes waking me at some ungodly hour to catch a train that passed through the station that Colonel Moriarty managed. Although I was somewhat irritated at being woken up so early, especially when I realised there was another train a few hour late that would have done just as well, I could not help but smile at the expression of barely concealed excitement in Holmes's continence as we travelled. The game was afoot and his eyes were shinning with the thrill.

At length he spoke and asked me,

"So, Watson, you are the one who has been in correspondence with the man. What do you make of him?"

I paused before I answered and then told him,

"Well, Holmes, the man's letter to me was dashed insolent, if you don't mind me saying so!"

He raised his eyebrows, but did not reply. I knew that he needed peace to be able to think most effectively, but it was times like this that I really wanted to ask him his opinion of things. After another few minutes, he spoke again.

"What was your opinion of the man's character?"

"For my part, Holmes, I would say that he will be a fairly opinionated sort of person, and the sort of man who will not take kindly to your inquests. What are your views?"

My companion closed his eyes, in an effort to control frustration and he said, rather sharply,

"You know well enough, Watson, to know that I never theorise without data. I have no knowledge of the man, so I cannot make an observation of any kind!" He paused and then added, more kindly, "But thank you, old fellow, that will be of help no matter what he appears to be like when we meet him."

I was curious at this and asked how it would be of help.

"Well, if he is near enough as you describe him to be, then all well and good, if not, then we may allow ourselves to become suspicious!" He said this with an irony that demonstrated to me just how much he was anticipating our arrival.

"Ah, here we are!" He suddenly cried, and threw his head out the window of the train. I followed suit and I saw that there was a platform in the distance, on which we could make out a figure, dressed a station masters uniform. Holmes face was that of a hound that has spied the fox it is to chase, as he gazed at Colonel James Moriarty.


	4. Chapter 4

As we disembarked, Holmes deliberately steered me away from where the Colonel was standing and muttered to me,

"I want to avoid the man as long as possible Watson."

I understood what he meant. He wanted to be able to have the upper hand when it came time to meet the Moriarty's brother. I had already thought that the situation may be somewhat awkward, as Holmes had been the one to kill the professor!

However, as we walked out of the station and into the charming little village, Holmes suddenly pulled me sharply into a small bakery. There was danger in his eyes, that much I could see.

"What is it Holmes?" I asked, peering out of the window at the street before us. It was apparent that the speed of our entry had created quite a stir. Holmes on the other hand was staring keenly out of the window, completely oblivious to people looking. He pointed and I followed the direction of his finger.

"There, Watson. Do you see him?"

I did and I recognised him without Holmes's help. Peterson by name and a garrotter by trade, but his real occupation for a long time had been lookout for Moriarty. It worried me and, I could see by his face, it worried Holmes too. However, the man moved on and we left the bakery, getting strange glances from all the patrons still inside!

We stopped at the local inn and I engaged us some rooms while Holmes wondered into the bar and disappeared for a while. Knowing his preferred methods, I merely went up to our rooms, leaving a message at the reception. It was sometime before he reappeared and when he did, he merely sat down in one of the chairs, closed his eyes and said nothing.

"Holmes?" I asked. I knew that he needed his time to think, but this was intolerable.

He opened one eye and smiled at me.

"Well, Watson, it appears that the locals know nothing whatever. They know the colonel and like him, but other than that, they know nothing. He has had no strange visitors, no houseguests and none have noticed strange."

I looked at him and merely waited. In time he said,

"However, the simple fact that Peterson is here is unpleasant. Even when we arrested Moran, he eluded us. He is the last member of Moriarty's inner circle who still has their liberty!"

He spoke with impatience, as if it was some failing of his own that meant this man was still on the lose.

"So, what next?" I asked, keen to actually do something. For the first time he looked at me and smiled.

"Good old Watson. Always ready to leap into action at a moments notice! No Watson, I shall leave it till tomorrow, and then you and I shall visit the good colonel!"


End file.
